


Statecraft

by Merit



Category: Old Kingdom - Garth Nix
Genre: Gen, ancelstierre
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-23
Updated: 2018-03-23
Packaged: 2019-03-31 16:58:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13979550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merit/pseuds/Merit
Summary: A deal is struck.





	Statecraft

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CoaxionUnlimited](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoaxionUnlimited/gifts).



His uncle didn’t shout - he had men for that, like Nick’s father, ill-suited his father may been for the task - so Nick didn’t hear a thing despite how close he leaned toward the heavy oak door. His uncle’s secretary, a man with a bald pate and a long, thin nose, had been giving him increasingly dry looks. Nick cleared his throat, adjusting his coat. Ever since he had arrived back in Ancelstierre, the clothes just didn’t feel right and he felt like an old man, despairing at the fashions of the youth. Never mind he was scarcely older the fashionable youth, dashing about in their fast motorcars, laughing madcap.

Sabriel’s two bodyguards had been refused entry to his uncle’s office. They stared fixedly at the door, remembering what had happened last time Sabriel had been in Ancelstierre. Probably remembering how his uncle _hadn’t_ acted. Only acted after the whole mess had exploded and Nick had emerged from the wreckage.

Nick had only read the weeks old newspapers during his convalescence, memories fuzzy, his father returning home early every night. But murdering a monarch of a neighbouring kingdom? It wasn’t _done_.

When the door opened, smoothly, oiled thrice a fortnight, he jerked to attention. Sabriel exited first, the silver in the her hair like a crown, her face stern but when she saw Nick, she smiled, ever so slightly. Her bodyguards snapped to attention, flanking on both sides, giving his uncle a flinty look. His uncle followed her, half a step behind, his face wearing an impossibly smooth mask. Nick had only seen him lose it once; when his youngest daughter had run off to join the circus. He’d always liked Cissy the most.

“Nick,” Sabriel said, turning and smiling. “An agreement has been reached.” His uncle’s mouth thinned, meaning he hadn’t gotten everything he’d wanted.

“Oh good,” Nick said, staring between his uncle and Sabriel.

“You’re allowed to marry that Old Kingdom girl,” his uncle said, waving his hand about. His uncle’s secretary wrote down something very rapidly, black ink splashing across the page. His long thin nose quivered.

“Your mother insisted you must visit at least once a year,” Sabriel said solemnly. “As a mother I understand how difficult it can be to be away from your children.”

“Mother would,” Nick said, shaking his head. “I was always her favourite,” he said.

His uncle snorted. “Always a pleasure speaking with you, Your Majesty,” his uncle said, bowing his head half an inch. Sabriel’s eyebrows rose slowly at the obvious dismissal.

“The agreement will be signed pending a review by my advisors,” she murmured over her shoulder as she left, her two bodyguards moving smoothly, half a step behind her. Nick turned to follow her.

“Nicholas,” his uncle said gruffly, walking back into his office, “Follow me.” There was a finality to his tone, the expectation that he would be obeyed overlayed his words.. Nick turned to Sabriel and she nodded back at him.

“Go,” she said, “I’m sure you have much to discuss with your uncle. We’ll wait in the car downstairs,” she said, over her shoulder.

Nick slowly followed his uncle into his office. Two streaks of cold light struck out from the half closed curtains. The fire was banked, smouldering, the crack and pop heating the room. It hadn’t changed much since the last time he had seen it - brightly polished cherry wood, the thick scent of polish, leather chairs buffed to perfection. 

The only thing different was the map in the corner, before the map had finished hazily at the Wall. But his uncle must have found someone who had been across the Wall, maybe an ex-Scout. The map now extended several miles beyond the Wall, rivers carved into the paper hesitantly. The Southerling lands were crisscrossed with lines, scarlet and black, borders constantly changing.

His uncle had settled into his chair and pulled out of a box of cigars. He stared at the full box intensely before several seconds before putting the box away again.

“My doctor,” he said, rolling the word in his mouth like it was a disease, “says that these are poison for my lungs.”

“Mother never liked them,” Nick said, shrugging, sliding into the chair opposite his uncle. He smiled cheerfully at his uncle. 

“Hmm,” his uncle said, staring at the map, "We lose three fishing boats each year to that place," he said, waving his hand at the Old Kingdom. "Not a scrap of man or boat comes back."

"The waters aren't safe there," Nick said carefully.

“Your mother was distraught when you vanished across that Wall again. Begged me to invade that place.”

“You didn’t seriously consider that,” Nick said, snorting.

There was a delicate pause.

“Oh no,” his uncle said. “The Moot would have yelled at me every step of the way and half of the Scouts probably would have deserted me. And for what? A few acres of farmland, a few hundred miles of potentially prime fishing waters.” He turned slowly in his chair.

“And whatever you see in it,” he said.

“Lirael is a very nice girl,” he said, hurriedly.

“No last name, a funny sounding title and a golden hand,” his uncle murmured. “No wonder your mother _worried._ That's not something she can boast about at her ladies' lunches.”

“Mother will like her,” Nick said, shrugging.

“And you’ll spend most of your life there,” his uncle said. “Tramping with the barbarians. I’m told they have no motorcars, no electricity.”

“They have - ” and he shut his mouth. His uncle hadn’t looked away, a hard look in his steel like eyes. “There’s a lot of natural beauty.”

“The place was a wreck, barely functioning for hundreds of years. When Touchstone became king, we all had a good laugh about it at the club. None of us thought he’d last a year. Hadn’t all their kings been killed before?” He uncle barked a laugh, short and sharp. “And they’ll have a woman as their queen next.”

“Ellimere will make a great queen,” Nick said tersely.

“She would have been a match,” his uncle said, leaning across his vast desk thoughtfully. “That I could have accepted. That I could have boasted about, my nephew, the king beyond the border.” He kept the desk clean, bare for visitors. But tucked away in the corner was a tiny writing table, barely containing the mountains of paperwork his uncle consumed, produced each day. Nick had discovered it as a boy of twelve, his first summer back from school, fingers finding his way into state secrets.

“I’m marrying Lirael,” Nick said firmly.

His uncle sighed heavily. “So everyone has insisted,” he said. “You young people have a lot more freedom these days. I accepted I was marrying the Rothmere girl and just went on with it,” he said, standing up and walking over his to drinks trolley. He poured a measure of whiskey into a glass, cut to perfection. Then he poured a measure into another glass and carried both glasses back the table. He rested one of the glasses in front of Nick, the gesture heavy, the glass thunked onto the glossy table.

Nick smiled, picking up the glass, eyes watering before he had even taken a sip.

He wondered what his uncle’s doctor thought about the _whiskey_.

  


 

“You didn’t tell him, did you,” Nick said, very quietly as he met up with Sabriel. She tilted her head and smiled.

“Why would I ever tell him that the two of you are already married?” She said, laughing. “I was able to get additional funding for the Scouts. In exchange for some fishing rights. Part of your bride price,” she said lightly.

Nick sighed, sinking into the soft leather of the motorcar, head spinning from his uncle’s whiskey.

“Bride price?” He said, hazily, running a hand through his hair.

Sabriel grinned.


End file.
